Charlotte - Chapter 1

The war between the two northern kingdoms, Ignator and Cloman, had come to an end. The goddess of victory had chosen to favor Ignator.

Cloman was demoted to the status of a duchy, forced into subjugation under Ignator’s rule. The war had lasted five years, culminating in this outcome mere weeks after both kingdoms had declared total war.

For the people of Ignator, who just days prior had faced the grim reality of being conscripted—sickles and pickaxes in hand—to march into the heart of the battlefield, the news of victory was nothing short of a miracle.

Instead of trudging to the front lines, they spilled into the streets, cheering and shouting their relief and joy.

From every mouth came praises for the man who had led Ignator to triumph, the undisputed hero of the war, Duke Leo Kartenon.

They called him “The Light of Ignator,” their voices unanimous in admiration and gratitude.

None of them knew, however, that their “light” had already begun to dim.

***

The face of Diandel de Ignator, King of Ignator, was steeped in worry.

It was all because of Leo Kartenon, Duke of Rosa, who had skipped the triumphal celebration held at the royal palace a few days prior—an event meant to honor the nation’s victory. Leo’s absence had publicly humiliated the king, tarnishing his image in front of his subjects.

Diandel was convinced that Leo’s absence was nothing more than arrogance. With the entire kingdom hailing him as a hero, Leo must have let the praise go to his head, thinking himself untouchable.

But the reality that had reached Diandel’s ears was far worse than anything he had imagined.

“Hah…”

The king sighed heavily, pressing his wrinkled fingers against his furrowed brow.

This… this was not what he had expected.

If Leo had simply been insubordinate, if he had merely deluded himself into believing he could stand above his king, Diandel might have found it easier to bear. At least that could be dealt with.

But this news? This wretched, unbelievable news?

“He’s… blind?”

Diandel practically spat the word, his fury erupting as he crumpled the letter in his hand.

The letter had come from Baron Erik Moore, Leo Kartenon’s secretary, and its contents had struck Diandel like a blow.

[To His Majesty, the King,]

Even as the paper lay crushed in his hand, the words still echoed in Diandel’s mind, lingering like a bitter aftertaste.

[The Light of Ignator has lost its shine.]

The audacity of the phrasing—daring to call a mere vassal the “Light” of Ignator while addressing the king, the true “Sun” of the nation—was almost insulting in itself. But Diandel couldn’t bring himself to dwell on that indignity.

The following message had been far more damning.

The letter detailed how, on his return to Ignator after the war, Leo Kartenon had fallen gravely ill with a mysterious fever.

The illness had been relentless, and its final toll was devastating: the duke had lost his sight.

The letter ended with Baron Moore pleading forgiveness on Leo’s behalf, explaining that he had been unable to attend the victory ceremony due to his condition and had instead returned directly to his duchy.

Diandel clung to the letter, rereading its contents over and over again as though hoping that the words would somehow change. But no matter how many times he read it, the truth remained the same.

Leo Kartenon, Ignator’s great hero, was blind.

Losing a hero? That wasn’t what disturbed Diandel.

With Cloman defeated and the war over, the kingdom no longer needed a hero to rally behind. Sure, Leo’s absence would be a loss, but it wasn’t the kind of loss that could cripple the kingdom.

No, the real problem lay elsewhere.

Diandel had made a promise.

When he sent Leo Kartenon to the battlefield, it had been under the king’s name, with a vow that could not easily be ignored.

“Duke Kartenon,” Diandel murmured, as if the mere name were a curse.

The memory of his own voice echoed in his mind, dragging him back to the moment he’d made that fateful promise.

“Just return with victory.”

The echoes of his past words clung to Diandel’s ears like stubborn glue, sticking to him no matter how he tried to shake them off.

“The most noble lady in Ignator will become the duke’s wife.”

The most noble lady in Ignator. That meant none other than his beloved daughter, Mia de Ignator.

Everyone in the kingdom knew of the king’s boundless affection for the princess, as radiant and delicate as a wildflower.

It was common knowledge that the entire kingdom would buzz with worry if Princess Mia so much as sneezed. Such was the depth of her father’s devotion.

Now, Diandel cursed himself for the reckless promise he had made.

Mia had been utterly smitten with Leo Kartenon, declaring time and again that she couldn’t live without him. Her insistence had worn him down until, unable to resist her pleas, Diandel had foolishly given his word to unite her with the war hero.

But Leo Kartenon, for all his strength and valor, had treated marriage to the princess like an inconvenience, as though he were a migratory bird ready to fly away at the first sign of trouble.

And now…

Now it had all gone so horribly wrong.

“Tch.”

The king clicked his tongue, his expression haggard, as though he had aged decades in a single moment.

“Would that he had returned as a corpse instead.”

The words spilled from his mouth before he could stop them, but he felt no remorse.

Why should he? The man had been rendered half a cripple—useless, unfit to inherit anything of value. And yet now Diandel was expected to hand over his most precious treasure to such a broken man?

The mere thought infuriated him.

No matter how impossible it seemed, Diandel clung to the hope that his bitter wish might somehow reach the gods and be granted.

As the king stewed, his breath coming sharp and heavy like the winds of a storm, his mutterings grew louder.

“Absolutely not. It can’t happen. It won’t happen.”

Words of denial circled relentlessly on his lips, feeding the fire of his anger.

“There has to be a way. There must be a way… There has to be…”

And so Diandel thought.

He thought, and thought, and thought some more.

When at last his troubled mind arrived at a conclusion, he reached out and rang the gilded bell that hung nearby.

***

“Bring the child to me at once,” Diandel commanded, his voice cold and distant, as though issuing an order about something trivial.

The “child,” he said.

The vague wording left the chamberlain momentarily perplexed. Which child did His Majesty mean?

Uncertain, the chamberlain hesitated, lifting his gaze slightly to study the king’s expression, hoping to glean some hint of his intent.

Diandel’s brow was deeply furrowed, as though he were straining to recall something long forgotten. His lips, which had been pressed tightly together in contemplation, parted again after a long silence.

The chamberlain straightened his posture, bracing himself to hear the king’s answer.

“Char…”

The syllables came haltingly, as though dredged from the depths of a memory he had worked hard to suppress.

“…lotte.”

Finally, Diandel spoke her name.

The name of his eldest daughter:

Charlotte de Ignator.